


A Pawn in God's Game

by stuphanie



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Psychological Torture, Smut, Torture, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-07 02:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuphanie/pseuds/stuphanie
Summary: The Deputy is held hostage by the youngest Seed brother and now faces a difficult decision: does she save the lives of the few, or the many?





	1. Chapter 1

_Pride leads to destruction, and arrogance to downfall._   
_\- Proverbs 16:18_

* * *

 

 

_“That John sure does have a hard-on for you. Maybe you should just fuck and get it over with.”_

Sharky’s words bounce around her head as she crouches low behind a crumbling wall of an outpost – Christ, now of all fucking times? Ever since that wacky pyromaniac had said it, it had stuck with her, repeating over and over like a mantra. At first, she’d brushed it off, but Adelaide only reinforced the idea.

_Fuck_. Talk about being cut from the same cloth.

Suddenly, Boomer growls low, alerting Rook to a nearby Peggie. His shadow is cast long in the low setting sun; she can see its exact movements from her position. Before the Peggie even has time to scratch his balls, she springs up from her hiding position, grabbing the cultist’s neck from behind. The joint snaps in relative ease, and he doesn’t even cry out. Rook surveys the area for any movement, the other dead Peggies clumsily propped up out of any direct line of sight. _Maybe that was the last one_ , she thinks. Stealth had always been her forte.  

“Come,” she murmurs to Boomer, and they make their way to the house only mere feet away. Tentatively, Rook pushes open a door. A vast, empty room greets her. It’s rustic and could be cosy had it not belonged to the Seeds. Boomer trots off to investigate elsewhere, leaving Rook to explore on her own.

She can scarcely believe that she has managed to take over John’s ranch. Single-handedly (if one wasn’t to count Boomer), and it feels _good_. She had hit him where it hurt, a big fuck-you to the youngest brother, which would surely help the Resistance’s morale. They can even use this place as a safe house, she thinks idly as she walks around what she assumes is the lounge, carelessly running her hands over the fur of stuffed animals and wooden ornaments. The place is clean, Rook notes, peering at a vase on the mantelpiece. There are no flowers in it, which is a shame. Next to it, there is a small frame holding a picture of the Seed family. Rook curls her lip at the sight of them.

“You will all meet God soon enough,” she whispers, voice dripping venom.

“As will you,” a dangerous voice says behind her.

Rook swings round but is hit in the head with something hard, and everything goes black.

 

***

 

Upon awakening, Rook finds herself in what can only be described as a cell. There is a single cot against a wall and the lone lightbulb dangling from the leaking ceiling barely casts enough light to illuminate the other sparse features of the room. Rook looks around slowly, her vision blurred, only just making out a broad figure sat on a chair in front of her.

“Ah! You’re awake.”

Rook jolts forward, first instinct to attack, but finds herself yanked back against cold concrete. Her wrists are bound by iron shackles, and there’s no hope in hell that she can escape on her own from this one.

“I feared that you wouldn’t wake for some time,” John says coolly, pacing in front of her. He tsks, shaking his head. “It’s rude, you know, to enter someone’s home uninvited.” He looms close to her, their noses centimetres apart. “Very rude.”

“Fuck you,” she croaks.

Their eyes meet, blue and blue, yet John’s eyes hold no warmth. He is attractive, sure, she thinks, but his sadistic persona takes away from that.

His face expressionless, he barks a hollow laugh. “I have to say, I consider myself fortunate to catch you. Much like a snake, you’re sly, slippery… and much like a snake, you’re dangerous and a threat.”

John unsheathes a pocket knife, running his index finger lightly across the blade.

“You could always let me walk away,” Rook tells him, taking a stab in the dark that he _might just_ let her do just that. “I walk away, and your brother’s precious Project goes ahead, no interference.”

John snorts incredulously. “Do you think me an idiot? You and your friends were offered that at the very start. Joseph would have let you go, no damage done. Sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone.” He smirks and whets the knife against some sort of block, brow furrowed in concentration.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t torturing people, you sadistic fuck,” she spits. “How could we just let that go, as part of the law enforcement? Simply overlook the damage you’ve all wrought?” She pauses as he ignores her. This makes her temper flare all the more. “You’ve no idea how much I enjoyed killing those Peggie fucks, dragging it out until they begged for their life to be ended. It seems acceptable in return for what you have done, no?”

“Shut your filthy mouth, sinner,” John growls, holstering the knife, “before I shut it for you.”

Rook’s eyes dance. It is dangerous, stupid even, to wind him up like this – yet she can’t help herself. Like a child about to relish disobeying a parent’s orders, she smiles. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

John’s gaze darkens. He considers her for a moment, before lunging at her and holding the knife against her throat. She swallows hard but holds his gaze. Insolently, one might say, yet she is determined. He won’t break her. No one will break her.

“If it weren’t for my brother’s orders, I would slit your throat open right now,” he hisses. She notices that he smells faintly of herbs and sandalwood. “How I’d love to see your sins spill from you onto this very floor…” He inhales deeply through his nose and closes his eyes, as if composing himself. Eyes snapping open, John pushes the blade into the deputy’s skin, the point only just piercing taught flesh, a pearl of blood bubbling to the surface. It stings, but Rook remains defiant. Her face gives nothing away, and that’s what riles him the most. He wants her to react. This woman, this godless heathen, has stormed her way into Hope County with her orders and her ideals, thriving to be a pinnacle of hope to those lost from the Flock. She is resilient, stubborn and cold. She is everything that he is, and for some reason, it is both appealing and frustrating. A grown woman in her 20s, yet insists on acting like a fucking child.

The deputy inhales sharply, her chest pushing out. _Is she aroused by this_?

“Rumour has it that you’re hard for me, John Seed,” she whispers into the whorls of his ear. Her breath tickles him and he pulls away instantly. His lip curls.

“You won’t be able to fuck your way out of this,” he snaps. He wipes the knife on his jeans, smearing them with blood.

Rook scowls at the floor. She knows John won’t be easy to break. Hell, he’s even more stubborn than her, and that is saying something. Of course she knows a quick fuck won’t get her out of this mess – far from it – but it is time for a different tactic. Hard-headedness may have got her everything up until now, but she knows it won’t work this time. To get out of it, she needs to bargain.

“You sure? I’m in no position to put up a fight.”

This sends John silent for a few short seconds. “Fucking stupid,” he snarls and turns his back on her. He goes to leave the cell, but, of course, she calls him back.

“Think about it, John,” Rook explains slowly. “You’ve got me here, at your disposal. You could do literally anything you so desire. You could torture me – and I know how fun that is for you – or, we could come to a… beneficial arrangement.”

With a withering look, John walks out of the cell wordlessly, slamming the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Be not quick in your spirit to become angry, for anger lodges in the heart of fools._   
_\- Ecclesiastes 7:9_

* * *

 

Over the next few days, the deputy is subject to all sorts of torture from the excruciating to the downright degrading. Her ribs ache, bruised, and she sports more than a fair few cuts and bruises on her face. She has been kicked, burned, pissed on, you name it. Any other person would have crumbled, but not Rook. Instead, she channels her frustrations into winding up whatever Peggie walks into her cell. One particular day, however, she is beaten to the verge of unconsciousness. She looks up at her attacker and for the first time, sees panic in the Peggie’s eyes.

“Shit. Quick, get John,” he calls to someone outside the cell.

Rook’s head slumps and her vision blurs (but only through one eye it seems?), floating in and out of a conscious state. At some point, John enters.

He tsks, lifting her head by her chin, his tone cold. “They’ve really done a number on you, haven’t they?”

Rook tries to speak, only to find her jaw aches at the most minute of movements.

“Shh,” John hushes. He drops something to the floor and sits opposite her on a chair. Something cold presses to her left eye, then something else is placed upon it and wrapped around her head.

“What are you doing?” she mumbles. Her energy sapped, she sits compliantly.

“Your eye is bleeding from the trauma,” he says shortly, no compassion in his voice. “Can’t risk having you die on me, can I?”

Silence falls between them. When he is finished, the chair scrapes as John stands up.

“Have you considered my suggestion?” Rook murmurs.

John snorts a short laugh. “How could anything that you offer be beneficial to me?”

“You forget, John Seed,” Rook says, and laughs softly, “about my many… talents, you might say.”

“Stop being so fucking cryptic and get to the point before I beat it out of you myself,” John snarls. He is more than capable of doing that right now, of course, yet he is truly intrigued by whatever pathetic offer this heretic has.

“Not only have I skilfully killed many of your men,” she begins, relishing the way John’s expression stiffens at this reminder, “I have also deftly found my way through traps, alarms, and who knows whatever else in order to take over outposts and destroy property. I did it for such a time, John, and it has taken you this long to capture me.”

John hisses. He despises being reminded of these facts; it makes him feel inferior, incapable, embarrassed that one woman has caused so much chaos single-handedly and he had thus far failed to prevent it.

“Let my friends go, and I am yours. To do with as you please. A pawn, if you will.” Rook’s gut clenches as she says it aloud, the words unpleasant tasting in her mouth as she sacrifices herself and her own pride.

_Pride. Another sin to be marked for_.

Yet, it feels a fair trade for the lives of those close to her. She waits impatiently as John mulls this over.

“Anything?” he asks, expression dark and dangerous.

“A-anything.” Rook stumbles over the word. The promise is bitter yet she remains resolute. She has to un-fuck this shit show, by any means possible, and she knows all too well that John will relish in humiliating her, pushing her limits both physical and mental.

John smirks and the smile causes her stomach to churn unpleasantly.

“Welcome to the Project.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you._  
_\- Luke 6:28_

* * *

 

 

The following day, the deputy is permitted to leave the cell, albeit only to be led to the back of a pickup truck and with a burlap sack over her head. Deprived of her sight out of her good eye, she strains her ears to discern what is happening around her; all the information she can garner, however, is that she is being taken back to John’s home. Upon arrival, she is roughly shoved out of the back seat, hands bound in front of her as she is led up wooden steps and into a house.

“Say hello to your new home, Deputy,” John’s cold voice whispers into her ear.

With a flourish, he removes the sack, and Rook is faced with the exact same room that he caught her in. She wants to kick herself for being so careless.

“Truly wonderful,” she mumbles, voice heavy with sarcasm.

John knocks her forward so that she stumbles and he laughs. He nods to the Peggies that flank her either side, signalling them to leave. “A few ground rules before you get too comfortable,” John begins, and already she is dreading what follows. He clears his throat as he marches her around the room. “You are to remain within my sight at all times, except to use the bathroom. However, rest assured, the windows are barred and there is no escape. Everything else you do – breathe, eat, sleep – you will be watched. Your kind cannot be trusted.” John smirks at her angry expression, continuing before she can object. “You will wear the clothes that I see fit for you, and you will perform any task that I require of you. Finally,” he says slowly with relish, “you will sleep in my room with me.”

Rook frowns. “In your bed, with you? I don’t fucking think so,” she snaps before she can stop herself. She is immediately answered with a slap to the face for her cheek.

“If I say so then it is so,” John growls. “But no, you will have your own bed on the floor.”

“Like a dog,” she sneers, hating him more and more every second.

“Exactly,” he replied happily, eyes shining, clearly pleased that she has caught on so quickly. “Dogs must be trained and earn their place with their master.”

Master. Fucking _Master_. She wants to be sick. If she wasn’t doing this for her friends, the good honest people she has met on her turbulent journey here, then she wouldn’t think twice about kicking his face in. Instead, she inhales deeply and puts on a wavering smile.

“Yes, you’re right,” she tells him tonelessly, and bile rises up in her throat as she agrees with this monster. This goes against everything that she stands for, everything that she has been fighting for, and right now in this moment there is no worse a feeling than contradicting herself.

_Hypocrite_ , her subconscious hisses.

John looks taken aback, but for only a split second. “Good. You’re learning fast.” He steers her roughly by the shoulder to the rear exit of the house. “Come. Your first test awaits.”

The grounds are relatively quiet. Peggies patrol the perimeter, many eyeing her suspiciously, others talking amongst themselves completely oblivious to her existence. Blood still stains areas on the ground from where the deputy has previously slaughtered their brethren, splashes still staining the walls of the house. Unsurprisingly, Rook finds that she isn’t one bit apologetic. She’s glad that she had brought as many Peggies down with her as possible before her fun was halted to a stop. In her mind, she calls it her own version of the Cleansing.

“Here we are, Deputy.”

John shoves her unceremoniously into an outhouse of some sort. The room is small, and in the middle is a person on their knees, a bag over their head. From first glance it could be anyone: their clothes are ripped and filthy, smeared with splotches of dried blood. Slowly, as if savouring the moment, John grins at Rook as he removes the bag obscuring the person’s head. Rook quickly catches the gasp in her throat. She recognises the man as a member of the Resistance. She struggles to place his name as there are so many, but she distinctly remembers seeing him in the Spread Eagle upon her return with the Widowmaker. The man gazes up at her, imploringly, and Rook’s gut twists as realisation hits her like a brick.

“I’m sure you’re aware of what I need you to do, Deputy,” John breathes in her ear, and she shivers.

“No,” she replies shortly, playing dumb.

At the sound of such a simple word, John’s demeanour instantly changes. Blue eyes cloud over and a ring-adorned hand is brought back and flung across her face. She reels slightly, stinging. She glares at the youngest Seed brother as she spits blood onto the floor. Peggies laugh around her.

“Wrong answer, Deputy.”

John clicks his fingers and instantly a sawed-off shotgun is placed into his hands. He holds it out, face bright with sickening glee. He checks the barrel and cocks it ready. “Take it, Deputy.”

Fuck, she thinks as she has the weapon thrust at her. Hands still bound together, she struggles to grasp it. Briefly, she considers shooting John straight in his ice-cold heart – but the notion is quashed as soon as she meets his gaze. No sooner will she have fired the fatal shot than Peggies will be on her like a rash. Dumb idea overall, but she wants out of this outhouse, this situation. _Of course_ John Seed wants her to put a bullet in the skull of a Resistance member, _of course_ he would waste no time in handing her the most difficult decision she has faced thus far in Hope County. Of course, he wants to break her.

“It’s you or him, Deputy,” John pushes. “And if it comes to you – well, let’s just say that I can’t guarantee that your friends safely leave this county.”

_Then it will all have been for nothing_.

And yet, when the cards are on the table, Rook freezes, index finger hovering above the trigger. The more she stalls, the worse she will feel, she knows that. She can’t help but feel like John has specially selected a shotgun for the repulsive task; the shotgun is heavy, powerful, and devastating at close range. It will be messy and the thought sickens her to the pit of her stomach.

“Do it,” John urges, close to her ear. His breath tickles her skin and she fights off another shiver – whether it is out of disgust, she is unsure. “Do it – say ‘yes’.”

He lifts the barrel of the gun so that it points right between the man’s eyes. The man whimpers, tears streaming unchecked down dirty cheeks. It’s a sorry sight and John is enjoying every minute of it.

“Do it, Deputy,” he chants softly. He grabs her chin roughly and forces her to look at him. “Need I remind you of our arrangement?”

“Yes,” Rook answers, playing for time, hoping that John will simply get fed up and leave the whole debacle be. Even though this is clearly John’s favourite word, his eyes flash and hits her in the mouth, hard. Rook spits blood again and glares defiantly.

“Wrong context,” he snarls. He is beginning to lose patience, fast. He grabs Rook’s upper arm and turns her towards to cowering Resistance member. “Do it. Do it!”

Rook squeezes her eyes shut as the surrounding Peggies join in the chant. She can’t. She won’t.

“Do it! Put a bullet in his sorry fucking head!”

_I’m so sorry_ –

“Pull the fucking trigger!”

– _and please forgive me_.

Rook fires blindly, the shot deafening, chanting ringing in her ears and then –

Silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Rook assumes that she must have blacked out shortly after, because the next thing that she’s consciously aware of is being back inside the house, hands still bound, and standing in the vast living room. John is pacing in front of her, in the best mood that she has seen him in so far.

“… I mean, I didn’t even think you were going to do it. I was thinking I’d have to kill you both, you know? But you came through.” John claps the deputy hard on the shoulder; she barely feels it. He continues, ecstatic and practically foaming at the mouth. “You really are one heartless motherfucker. To kill one of your own in cold blood! I hate to say it, Dep, but maybe you were right. Perhaps you can be of some use to me. If only I’d known sooner that all it would take to bend you to my will was a bit of emotional blackmail, throw in a lot of torture – and, well, here we are.”

There’s a small commotion outside. Rook glances through one of the many paned windows and vomit rises to her throat. Two Peggies are dragging a black body bag across the grounds, leaving a trail of blood behind them. She has to force herself to look away, concentrate on John’s ravings in order to distract herself. Unfortunately, he follows her gaze, his smile growing wider.

“Don’t you worry, Dep, we’ll give him a proper burial and let his family know.”

Her gut twists. She hadn’t even considered his family.

John is suddenly behind her and pushes her forward. “Go on. Up the stairs and you will be shown where you can shower.” His nose wrinkles. “You’re beginning to stink.”

Rook’s legs feel like lead as she trudges up the stairs, John in tow. She’s numb, scarred by what he has made her do. She could’ve let herself die, but what would that have achieved? The whole point of this petty arrangement is to ensure at least a few of the Resistance make it away from this hellhole, even if she can’t, even if it means offering herself up to John Seed being whatever he wants her to be.

“Left,” he commands suddenly from behind her. She obeys, much like a puppet whose strings are being pulled. “Right. No, this door.”

She enters compliantly. The bathroom is small, with a basic toilet, sink and shower that reminds her of the prison back in Seattle. She is dimly aware of John removing the restraints around her wrists.

“Don’t be too long,” is all he says as he leaves her alone.

An invisible weight lifts along with John’s departure. Rook is alone, albeit for a short amount of time, but it is a relief nonetheless. She crumbles, her knees giving way and doesn’t even register hitting the hard tiled floor. Tears pour and she bites her knuckles to keep herself from making any sound, just in case John or any Peggies can hear her. She punches the floor, once, twice, and then repeatedly until her hand becomes red and swollen. She’s stupid, weak. She hates herself for pulling the trigger – no, hate is too kind a word to describe how she feels about herself right now. Familiar faces flash in her mind and a pained sob escapes her mouth.

_Stand up, kid, else it will all be for nought_. 

Rook sees the Sherriff’s face appear behind her eyelids, his rough voice ringing in her ears. She has images of him standing with Burke, Pratt and Hudson. Behind them are the rest of the Resistance allies fighting for their cause. She knows it isn’t really Whitehorse speaking to her, yet it sounds eerily similar to what he would actually say. With a great sniff, Rook pulls herself up by the sink. Her eyes are puffy, wrists and fist sore, but deep down she knows crying will change nothing. John won’t take pity on her just because she’s shed a few tears. The absurd notion makes her chuckle weakly. It’s up to her now, only her, to make a damn difference, whatever that may be.

Rook only spends around fifteen minutes in total in the shower, exiting the bathroom with an old towel wrapped around her. She jumps when she catches John leaning against the wall, waiting for her.

“About time,” he says coldly.

“I can find the way to the bedroom on my own,” she snaps.

John shakes his head, smiling. “Don’t think so, Dep. You need to be watched, remember?”

“How could I forget,” she says dryly, following him down the hall. She is suddenly aware of how short the towel is. Luckily, John’s room is one door up from the bathroom.

“Your clothes.” He indicates the large double bed. Folded on top is a nightshirt of some sort; it’s a pastel pink with a scalloped neck with old fashioned-style buttons down the front. He notices her staring. “What?”

“No panties or bra?”

“Wear them to bed if you want,” he shrugs, indifferent. “There’s a sleeping bag in the wardrobe. I have work to do, so one of my men will stand guard outside until I’m ready for sleep. Try not to cause too much of a commotion, will you?”

He turns to leave and she hastens to follow him. “What, that’s it?”

“What else did you want? A bedtime fucking story?” he retorts.

“If you’re offering,” she says, smiling sweetly.

John only sneers. “While you are here, you are under my control, understand? You’re a prisoner.”

“I was under the impression that I was more ‘asset’ than ‘prisoner’,” she states coolly. Her face flickers slightly as he grabs her roughly by the throat.

“You are not even that,” he hisses, their faces mere inches apart. “Like I said before: prove your worth and I might just loosen the chains a little, Deputy. You have wrought far too much havoc in my territory for me to be taking it easy on you.”  

Rook smirks at him which she knows will get his temper up. “I might surprise you yet, John.”

He shivers when she says his name, so quiet, so resolute that it is almost a solid promise. He catches her steely gaze and his respect for her rises ever so marginally.

“Go the fuck to sleep, Dep,” he snaps, and pushes her away from him.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s late when John finally retires for the night. Rook has barely slept a wink, her mind elsewhere, plotting her next move and where to hit him next. She knows fully well that she has performed above expectations so far – no matter how low they may be – and she can see it in John’s deep blue eyes that he knows she will be resilient. Now, it’s all a game of who can break who first.

_As long as my friends make it out alive, I don’t care_ , she thinks frantically to herself. In the dark, she is her only company.

Slowly, the door opens and Rook knows that it is John. For a minute she half-expects him to tip her out of her sleeping bag, just for kicks – but he doesn’t. Instead, he switches on a dim lamp, illuminating his figure enough so that she can just about see him when she squints her eyes. Rook regulates her breathing in order to fool him that she is asleep.

With a sigh, John takes off his usual smart shirt, folding it up and placing it on top of his nightstand. As he turns around, the scars and tattoos on his back are thrown into more relief. Many of the scars are long and thin, yet others short and thick that shine in the lamp’s light. On his chest is the word SLOTH in large letters, scarred over and in pride of place for all to see his sin. Without warning, Rook’s stomach lurches with pity mixed with revulsion. She has never expected to pity this man, yet seeing the scarified word etched so deeply into his skin she realises that, in actuality, they’re not so different at all.

“Stop watching me,” John murmurs and Rook jumps.

“I wasn’t,” she lies, but John sees right through her. Knowing the ruse is up, she sighs.

“We’re all guilty of sin,” he tells her, and his tone is surprisingly gentle. He catches her gaze. “It’s important for us to face up to our own sins, show them on our bodies for the world to see, so we can learn from them in order to Cleanse ourselves.”

“If you say so,” she mumbles and absentmindedly touches the WRATH tattoo on her chest.

“Embrace it, Deputy,” John tells her shortly. His tone is of a man who has been given no other choice. He peels off his jeans and flicks back the duvet of his bed. “Now go back to sleep. This isn’t a damn high school sleepover.”

He switches off the lamp and the room falls into silence, yet Rook cannot erase her mind of what has just seen and heard. For sure, she feels sorry for him, but she also harbours anger and confusion of such intensity she feels as if it will burst out of her chest. This man was normal once, led an ordinary life and had a job. She finds herself wondering that had they met before, would she have felt differently about him?

Rook eventually falls asleep, her dreams plagued by John and bloodshed.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so this is slightly longer than i intended it to be oops


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both Rook and John's resolves begin to weaken.

_His hands are softer than they look; one is caressing her waist beneath her shirt whilst the other cups her face. A thumb probes at her mouth, gently separating her lips._

_“Beautiful,” John murmurs. He’s a head taller than her and she has to stand on her tiptoes but she doesn’t mind. John’s eyes hold deep affection. It makes Rook feel safe._

_“Ditto,” is all she can manage, for his touch makes her knees weak and mouth stop working. The way his fingers rub circles on her hip sends electric shocks down her spine._

_John chuckles, his laugh warm and comforting, reminding her of thick, sweet syrup. Their faces are only centimetres apart; the intimacy of the position causes Rook’s body to tingle all the more. Slowly, he looms closer, then his mouth is on hers. He has a natural woody scent that reminds her of outside, his lips tasting faintly of coffee and peppermint – a heady combination. This sends Rook spinning, down, down, down, into a pleasurably dark abyss…_

“Rise and shine.”

A hard voice rudely awakens her from the heavenly dream that she is having. Squinting, she is met with the sight of the real version of John Seed flinging open curtains, the sunlight obnoxiously pouring in. He is already dressed, she notices, and can’t help the stab of disappointment she feels. Groaning, she stretches and yawns widely.

“Good dream?” he asks with a smirk.

“You’ve no idea,” she mumbles, throwing the sleeping bag off. She wishes she could return to it later. The dream version of John is a lot more pleasant than the one looming over her right now.

“Tough,” he barks. “Up and at ‘em, Dep. Your second test awaits.”

Dread pools into the pit of her stomach. “What now?”

“You’ll have to wait and see. Come on, get up, we haven’t got all day.”

Frowning, Rook heaves herself to her feet, her joints aching severely after such poor sleeping conditions. She stretches again and her shoulders click.

“Don’t do that,” John chides. He throws her a pair of cargo trousers and vest, following by a greying crop top-style bra and matching underwear. “Get dressed.”

“I’m not stripping off with you in here,” she retorts. She knows that she is in no position to be calling the shots, but privacy is a basic human right… Isn’t it?

“No fear.” John opens the door and steps outside the room. Rook doesn’t notice that the door isn’t closed fully.

With a sigh, Rook pulls of the linen nightie. It’s somewhat damp from where she had sweated through the night. Flinging it into the far corner of the room, she exchanges it for the underwear John had handed her: it is so threadbare, she wonders if she would be better off going commando.

_Shit_ , John thinks to himself. He can only just see her through the crack in the door. She is turned away so nothing is on show to him, but instead he gazes curiously at her back. The skin is flawless, save for a few cuts and scars here and there. The one scar that stands out the most to him is a roundish one below her right shoulder blade, around the size of a fingernail. It shines and is still an angry pink, so John assumes that it must be fairly recent. His breath catches as she turns her torso slightly to clip the bra and he sees another similar scar beneath her ribs. The deputy manages to keep her breasts covered, as if she is subconsciously aware of him watching her.

_Stop it_ , he scolds himself. _This is wrong, wrong, wrong_. And yet, he feels compelled to watch, to gaze upon her natural beauty, because she reminds him of his old life when everything was good. She isn’t Holly, or any other woman he has shacked up with. She infuriates him, causes his blood to boil when he is reminded of all the times that she has bested him at his own game, but only because they are so alike. They are both fighting for a cause that they deem is righteous.

_We’re so similar that it’s terrifying_.

“Perish the thought,” he mutters to himself with the shake of his head. He shuts his eyes and rubs his temples, not noticing the bedroom door opening to its full extent and the deputy standing in front of him.

“Did you say something?” she asks, startling him.

“No,” John tells her coldly without missing a beat. The tips of his ears flush red at the embarrassment of being caught off guard. “If you’re ready, then let’s go. Stay close and don’t try and funny business.”

Rook heaves a sigh. “There’s not really much benefit to me escaping, so why would I?”

John elects not to grace this with an answer as they walk out onto the grounds.

He shoves her towards the passenger side of a pick up truck. When she doesn’t move, an accompanying Peggie nudges her hard in the back with his gun. Glaring, she lets herself in. At this point she knows better than to ask where they are going. John drives in silence, occasionally humming along to a song on the radio, his gaze only ever on the road ahead. The Peggies in the back are quiet, too, and Rook considers shouting at the top of her lungs just to break the painful atmosphere.

“We’re here.”

John pulls the truck to the side of the road. It’s a Peggie that yanks Rook from the passenger’s seat.

“You don’t have to manhandle me,” she snaps at him.

“Shut your mouth, sinner.” The Peggie hits her square in the back with the butt of his gun. She jolts forward, falling onto her knees, the wind knocked out of her. She tries to catch her breath when she can hear a hit and a grunt from behind her.

“Don’t fucking do that,” John snarls at the offender. “She is not yours.”

The Peggie whimpers pathetically, clutching a bleeding nose. Rook has no doubt that it is broken. But why did John defend her?

Rook begins to stand only to be roughly heaved to her feet by John himself. He doesn’t look at her and they continue their trek in silence. Soon, they come to an abandoned building. John nods his head towards the rusty ladder that is secured to one side.

“Up you go.”

Puzzled, Rook obeys. The building is high, giving them a perfect vantage point of at least a few miles. If it wasn’t for the current circumstances, Rook would’ve taken a moment to drink in the scenery. It’s peaceful up here. John must have signalled the Peggies to keep watch on the ground for it is only the two of them up here. There is a rifle propped up against the small wall that encircles the roof and for the second time that day Rook is filled with dread.

“Pick it up,” he commands softly, watching where she is looking. He observes her picking up the weapon with trembling hands. “Are you ready to hear your second task, Deputy?”

Rook shudders. “Y-yes.”

“Excellent,” John replies enthusiastically. “Look over there.”

Somewhere in the distance, a convoy consisting of two cars and truck are making their way down a dirt road. From what she can make out, Rook guesses that it is a supply truck from seeing a few back in Fall’s End.

“I want to hit the Resistance where it hurts, exactly how they did to me,” he whispers in her ear. He brushes her hair out of her face, smirking when her body stiffens.

“They aren’t a threat to you anymore, just let them leave,” Rook reasons desperately. “I’m the one you wanted, why does this matter anymore?”

John’s demeanour shifts. “Because I say so,” he snarls. “Now point that gun at their drivers and take them out. One, two, three.” He moves behind her and lifts her arms to aim the gun. “Shh, Deputy, I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need help,” she hisses, attempting to shrug him off, yet his grip tightens. There is no way out of this, just like there wasn’t back at the ranch. He needs to see that she will do anything on his command. _Is this how it will always be?_

A shot fires and echoes throughout the trees. One car skids off road whilst the truck and remaining vehicle increase their speed frantically. A second shot, and the last car falters.

“Now bring them home.”

Rook isn’t even aware of tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Her grasp threatens to falter but John has a death grip on her wrists. Sickened, the third and final bullet makes its target, causing the truck to crash into a road barrier and tip onto its side.

“Well done. Colour me impressed,” says John as he releases her.

In a fit of anger, Rook rounds on him, rifle poised and pointing right in between his eyes. He holds his hands up yet is smiling.

“You got me,” he says coolly. “Tell me, Dep, what will you do once you put that bullet in my skull? Run off back to your friends and take them away? No,” he shakes his head, “that won’t happen. You want to know why? Because then you have Jacob to deal with, and he will come down on you like a ton of bricks. If you think I’m bad, wait til you meet him.” John barks out a laugh. “He definitely won’t give you the chance that I have.”

“Fuck you,” Rook spits, angrily wiping her face on the back of her sleeve. “What chance? I was to join you, do what you need, and your end of the bargain was to make sure my friends got out alive!”

“And they will,” John says calmly. He steps forward but stops when the gun cocks.

“Why the fuck would I trust you now? After all this?” She gestures wildly to the distant carnage behind them. “You don’t know anything, John Seed.”

“On the contrary, Dep-you-tee,” John says, dragging out the last word. “If I wished to kill your friends, you can sure as hell trust me that I would have done by now.”

Rook glares, lowering the rifle slightly. Sure, he has a point, but how does she know that they are even still alive?

“I will get you proof that they are not dead,” John assures her, as if reading her mind. “Now make your decision: are you going to kill me, or not?” 

 

* * *

 

                                               

That evening, Rook is permitted to dine in the kitchen. It is only her and John, the Peggies patrolling outside. She sits in silence, focusing on her swollen knuckles, as John busies himself. He is talking but she isn’t listening. Her mind continues to wander back to when they were on the roof. Why didn’t she just kill him and be done with it? He hasn’t promised anything – the only thing she knows is that Hudson isn’t in his grasp anymore as he gave the order that afternoon to release her from his bunker. It makes her suspicious; she cannot read him and is utterly clueless as to what his ulterior motive is.

“Here.”

A bowl of soup is placed in front of her. Ravenous, she picks up a spoon, but John simply slaps it away.

“Glutton,” he chides. “We must say grace first.”

He sits opposite her on the small round table, holding out his hands in invitation. Begrudgingly, Rook allows him to take her hands in his. They are warmer than she thinks they would be, and soft, too. John bows his head as he says his prayers.

“Amen,” he finishes. He looks up at Rook who hurriedly mumbles the same word. She goes to pick up her spoon again but he finds himself not wanting to let go of her hands. They are cool and delicate in his and he is aware of how long it has been since he as dined with someone, let alone another woman. She gazes up at him, perplexed.

“A little bit of trust goes a long way, Deputy,” he advises. He nods at the bowl in front of her. “Now you can eat.”

Not wanting to disobey, Rook digs in, continuing to watch him. Why did he say that? Was he implying that if she has reason to trust in him, however crazy that notion is, it would be mutually beneficial?

“I spoke to Joseph earlier,” John murmurs into the awkward silence. He sets his spoon in his empty bowl. “He has assured complete protection for your… friends, for as long as you remain part of the Project. Joseph feels I am a little too harsh in my treatment of you. He feels that the last task was unnecessary.”

“He isn’t wrong,” Rook grumbles. She pushes her own bowl away. “Amazing, really, that it took you this long to realise.”

John’s eyes flash dangerously but manages to keep his tone even. “I believe my brother’s vision, and I trust him. I respect him, which is why I agreed to loosen the reins a little.”

“Yeah? Does that mean I’ll be able to take a piss on my own now?” she asks sarcastically.

“If you like.”

“Kind of you.”

They lapse into silence once again. He can’t say how he really feels, that he is glad that she didn’t pull the trigger and snuff out his life. Difficult as it may be at present, he has a job to do, a service to provide, and the betrayal he feels that dying would be to Joseph is too great. He wants to thank her for sparing him, but the words catch in his throat. The fact that she has followed his orders, however begrudging, makes him respect her somewhat. Hell, maybe an inkling of trust thrown in there too. If she doesn’t turn the gun on him after forcing her to kill her own, what would it actually take? He doesn’t want to find out. The chair scrapes as he stands up.

“Why did you make me do it?” Rook asks suddenly.

John raises an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“You know what I mean,” she replies impatiently. “Why did you make me… kill those people.”

“I had to know that I could trust you,” comes the simple answer.

Rook leaps to her feet, upsetting the empty bowls on the table. “But why? I have already pledged my life to you in exchange for theirs, promised I would follow the Project, what else could I have possibly needed to prove?”

John is rendered silent at her sudden outburst. She has a point, sure. Maybe now is the time to answer her honestly.

“Because you were a threat to me, my brothers, our people,” he tells her. “I captured you and saw an opportunity. I wanted the most dangerous person in Hope County to come to our side, help our cause, to coerce people to join us, even strike fear if need be. A Collapse is coming, Deputy. I couldn’t let this chance escape from right under my nose. Joseph would never have forgiven me.”

Rook is left reeling. She knows that she is being used yet hearing it in such candid terms is like a slap to the face. It was never really about the Resistance – that much is clear now. It was all her, their leader, who took out those Peggies, liberated the outposts, stole from the enemy. She was _good_ , and that’s why the Project wants her. That’s why the Project _has_ her.

“So my fate is sealed,” she says tonelessly. In a swift movement, she up-ends the small table, rounding on John and backing him into a corner. He isn’t afraid and that’s what angers her the most. “I pity you, John Seed,” Rook hisses venomously. “A mere shell of a man, forced to do his brother’s bidding, being marked against your will. You feel that we must be marked of our sins, show them to the world, cut them out like a cancer – but how much of that do you truly believe? How much _did_ you believe before you came here? You had a life once, too!”

“My life is the Project now!” John shouts back. “The Project, Eden’s Gate, you – all of it, and there is nothing that can change it. Such are the hands we are dealt, Deputy! You were meant to come here, it is His will!”

“Bullshit!” she yells. She reaches up to slap him, punch him, anything, but he grasps her wrist and instead pulls her against him. Her walls are crumbling, he can see it, and he cannot allow it to happen. Initially, he wanted to break her but now all he feels is pity, both for her and himself. She is right in what she says – only it is too late to turn back the clock now.

“Wrath consumes you, Deputy,” he whispers, suddenly calm, their bodies flush together. “You are becoming your sin, and I will stop that from happening.”

“You can’t,” she whimpers, her tenacity dissolving. Her body relaxes as she weeps.

“We can help each other, Deputy. Trust me.”

At those words he smashes their mouths together. The kiss is clumsy; he is out of practice and she wasn’t expecting it. Teeth clash and tongues wrestle messily. It is angry, frustrated, deplorable – anything but romantic. Rook lets him kiss her. She knows that he pities her just as she does him and she returns his inept affections desperately because she knows now that he is all she has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so it might be obvious but there's smut in the next chapter ooh wee


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEP-YOU-TEE

_Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good._  
_\- Romans 12:19_

 

* * *

 

 

Rook pulls away from their rushed kiss, gasping for air. She wipes her mouth as they stare at each other for a moment. This is wrong, it should _feel_ wrong, yet when John runs his thumb across her bottom lip all she can feel is sparks flying around her body.

“I might end up regretting this,” he tells her wryly.

Rook manages a weak smile. “We can help each other,” she says, repeating his words. “Let me help you too, John. Let me show you that there is good in the world.”

John merely nods, is mute as he leads her up the stairs and into his bedroom. He kicks the sleeping bag out of the way before taking Rook in his arms again. She fits perfectly against him, the curvatures of her body soft. He eases her vest over her head, drinking in the visage before him, absentmindedly running a finger across the round scar beneath her ribs.

“Careful,” she hisses instinctively, wincing, and his hand retracts, instead cupping her face in order to kiss her again. This time it is a lot softer, raw passion oozing into the kiss whilst John begins to unbuckle his jeans. They fall to the floor with a thud.

Rook goes to take off her own cargo pants but finds her progress impeded.

“Allow me.”

John’s hands, although big and heavy, make quick work of the fiddly zipper and shimmies her out of the garment. He is desperate to take her and is aware that it shows but he doesn’t care. He has already succumbed to his moment of weakness.

John continues to plant chaste kisses along Rook’s jaw, ridding himself of his usual vest and shirt until they are both in their underwear. Impatient, John’s boxer shorts are the next to go, flinging them into a far corner of the room. Rook’s eyes shoot down to his length, of which is already standing to attention. She pulls back from him and turns around, beginning to unclasp her bra.

“D-don’t look yet,” she tells him nervously. It has been – what, two years since she was last intimate with a man? Only all the luck in the world would have landed her here for John the Baptist to be the next guy she fucks.

“Don’t look?” he repeats with a chuckle. With gentle hands, he turns her to face him. “Bare yourself to me, just as I have for you.”

Swallowing hard, Rook allows the bra to fall to the floor, then hooks her thumbs into her panties before carefully stepping out of them.

She is beautiful, John marvels. As if to convey this, he skims her nipples with his thumbs, the rough pads causing them to become erect. Rook gasps and instinctively pushes her chest outwards. Heat pools between her legs as she allows herself to look at John fully, drinking in his toned and scarred body, before landing her gaze on his length. It is fully hard now, and thick. She gentle tunnels her hand along it and is surprised to find that her fingers don’t meet around the sheer circumference of it.

“Kiss me,” she demands.

More than happy to oblige, their mouths meet again, John’s cock nudging her stomach. The tip leaves a shiny trail of precome and he moans lowly. He walks her backwards to the edge of the bed, easing himself over her when her legs feel the mattress behind her. He plants wet, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, across her collarbone, down her sternum… all the way to her cunt, which twitches in response to his hot breath. He parts her lips with his middle and index finger, inhaling sharply at the sight in front of him.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, teasing each lip with his tongue. She is tangy and he has almost forgotten how delicious a woman can taste. He allows her to buck her hips, silently begging him to continue. He glances up at her and instantly wishes he hadn’t because he could come undone right there and then. Her dark blue eyes are hooded, clouded over with desire, ample bosom heaving with laboured breaths of anticipation. It is a glorious scene and is sure that it will be etched into his mind forever.

Deep down, he knows that he should not being doing this but the mere smell of her reminds him of his old life when he lived in the city, with money, women and drugs at his disposal. A life of sin, Joseph called it, and John is sure that his brother would say the same now. But if having his face buried deep in this woman’s cunt is a sin then may God strike him down where he stands, for he will have died content.

Rook moans and twitches; she is close.

“Mm-mm,” he mumbles. He pulls away, trimmed beard glistening with juices. He smiles that shit-eating smirk that winds Rook up so much. “Not yet.”

“Get to it, then,” Rook demands breathily, irritated at being denied her orgasm.

John plants a kiss on her clit and she shivers. “Calm yourself, Dep-you-tee.”

Rook bites back a retort, the sound catching in her throat as John slowly inserts a middle finger and _oh God_ his fingers are long and dextrous and hit that sweet spot just right. Another finger slips in, stretching her gently.

“Ah, fuck,” she gabbles as his fingers curve and beckon repeatedly.

“You are so wet and ready for me,” John whispers from down below. His own breathing is laboured and his cock throbs almost painfully.

“Just fuck me,” she pants, nearing her crescendo once again. Her words are desperate and needy, uncharacteristically so.

“Are you sure?” he asks, but he is playing for time as he spits into his palm to lube up his cock.

“Yes, yes,” Rook gasps. She can see the effect the word is having on him and elects to play on it. “Yes, John Seed, make me yours.”

He shudders with a moan. He pushes her legs up, steadily easing himself inside. She is twitching and throbs as her body learns to accommodate him, tight, wet walls gripping his length relentlessly. He doesn’t need to see Heaven if he can just get to experience her forever.

Slowly, John buries himself up to the hilt and they both moan in unison. He’s so deep inside her, the slight discomfort dissipating now. The feeling of being so full is delicious. John slides out and back in a few times before finding a gentle rhythm they both enjoy. He paws at her breasts, pinching her nipples, eliciting more excited whines from her. Each time he pinches her cunt clenches and he already knows that this will make her come soon.

“I c-can’t hold much longer,” Rook stammers. Her body is at its maximum sensitivity, her nerves alight with every touch, every kiss.

John kisses her full on the mouth and runs his fingers through her hair. “Let go, Dep. Come home to me.”

He clamps her left nipple between his teeth and almost instantly she comes, body convulsing and cunt throbbing all around him, wanton cries ringing through the room at such volume he is almost sure she can be heard from outside. He doesn’t care – her undoing is his undoing. He gives a final, hard thrust and spills himself into her, hot cum oozing out of her cunt as he rides out his orgasm for as long as possible.

“Fuck,” he whispers, bowing his head as he catches his breath. Rook merely watches him, enjoying the way their sweaty, spent bodies slide against one another. John collapses next to her, chest heaving. They lay together in silence.

“So… what now?” Rook asks. As much as she hates it, she has to face reality again.

“Hmm? What do you mean?” John props himself up, alert now the aftermath of his climax has subsided.

“I mean,” she says slowly, “do we revert back to how things were before?”

John doesn’t answer right away. “No. This was my… task, you could say, and I failed – failed to hold back, keep myself from you.”

“So fucking me was some sort of messed up test?” she asks now, voice shrill.

“Let me speak,” he says, dangerously quiet. “Joseph feels that you were brought here for another reason, and I think he may be right.

Her interest peaking, Rook sits up. “Yeah, so?”

John meets her gaze and she is surprised to see his eyes void of malice and anger for the first time. “He brought you here, Deputy. To me.”

Rook snorts. “Personally, I feel like unfortunate circumstances led me here to you, but whatever you say.”

“Also true,” he concedes. He pauses. “For the first time since Joseph brought me here, I feel free of sin.”

“Yeah?” Rook gives him a chaste kiss on the mouth, only to find him pulling her closer. “I’m glad I could free you of some of your trauma.”

“There’s a long road ahead yet, Deputy,” John tells her dryly.

“Ray.”

“What?”

“My name is Ray. Short for Rachel. But if you ever call me by my full name I’ll be forced to kick you in the throat,” she adds, her face serious.

“Ray.” John sounds out the name, then laughs. “Ray… Like a ray of sunshine.”

“Fuck you,” she says, nudging him, but the words lack their usual vehemence. “So call me that now instead of ‘Dep’.”

“Sure thing, Sunshine.”

Rook digs him in the ribs as he chuckles again. They lapse into silence once again for a while, and John notices Rook’s shoulders rise and fall steadily. He looks at her sleeping, so vulnerable. He feels comfortable and, he isn’t ashamed to admit, safe. He finally understands by what Joseph meant when he said she was brought here by something different. She is here, all his.

She is his salvation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so rachel was the name of jacob's second wife in the bible... go figure


End file.
